6.09.2015

June 8, 2015

White Dog sat pressed against my side. She moved there after Storm asked to be set down from my lap. "Momma, you are such a sentimental sap," The Little White Dog of My Heart chided me. "I do believe you have a tear in your eye."

Our Gentle Storm is no longer one of the newest kids, but is still learning our ways and overcoming the timidness and fear that comes along with being a mill breeder dog. Additionally, Storm battles as yet uncontrolled colitis complicated with clostridium and discoidal lupus.

Because of her health issues our tiniest girl has to frequently be bathed and given liquid meds. She has gotten good at patiently being held to be medicated and has lost her "I am invisible" stare off into space. Often now when Steve places the tiny wet baby into my toweled arms, Storm relaxes into the fluffy warmth and lets me wrap her tightly as I massage her dry.

The past week she has even been calm and confident enough to rest her head on my arm and nearly close her eyes. Sometimes she doesn't ask to be placed back on the floor immediately after drying; she stays cuddled for awhile as I softly tell her how beautiful she is and how lucky we are.

Tonight, she had been rather messy taking her medications. Steve left me with a basin of warm soapy water and a cloth to do cleanup. I carefully squeezed out the cloth and stroked the sticky stains on her neck and side of her face. She cleaned up quickly and seemed grateful for a return to dignity. I bent my face close to blot and rub her furs dry with a towel. She closed her eyes while I did one side and as she turned to allow me access to dry the other...